Gifts
by altairattorney
Summary: [Birthday gift for silverstreams] Anything turns out amazing when the cook is someone who really loves you.


**Gifts**

When Sam opens her eyes that morning, their bedroom smells different. The warm scent lingers on the bed, drifting from the soft pink curtain the kitchen is hiding behind. It is a pleasant surprise, somewhere in between the noise of the alarm and the crushing sleepiness.

She needs extra help to get on her feet anyway.

"Sam! What are you doing still in bed?"

She rubs her eyes with a pained moan, unwilling to look at the young day outside the window. Getting up is he last thing she wants to do today — but necessity calls, and the smelly fast food joint is waiting for her in less than two hours.

Life is tough, she thinks. Not so tough anymore when something heavy and forceful slams against the mattress, and Lonnie comes to brush a warm nose against her own.

"What are_ you_ doing up, today?"

"Neither of us is getting any sleep this morning, honey," Lonnie answers, tickling her neck playfully. "It may be my day off, but I have my priorities sorted out just fine. I haven't forgotten, so… birthday it is."

She storms to the curtain, and pulls it open to welcome the sunlight. A blurry vision fills Sam's eyes, gradually matching the first signs from her awakening; the table is already set, cutlery shiny and clean, and the round plate holds something familiar. Something like-

"I had to bake it like this," Lonnie adds bashfully, adding cheap colourful napkins to the display. "It is not one of the fluffy cream cakes we used to ate at your place before… well. It will have to do, awesome as it can be. Because you know I am awesome, right?"

Sam keeps the next minutes all to herself. The flood of emotion arrives way early, before the last strands of realization can kick in fully — she knows it smells of chocolate and vanilla and love, and the air is warmth, and the tears rolling down her cheeks are already too many.

Although she feels guilty when Lonnie flings herself to hold her, Sam cannot find the words for all the long minutes that pass by, and she is already bent back to the bed, shaken with sobs because of something she cannot put her finger on. All she has ever felt, since the beginning, merges together in a blur of love and bitterness.

It is life, she vaguely thinks, tangling her girlfriend's red locks in her fingers. The sheer force of life.

"Is it because of your family?" Lonnie whispers, mortified. "I shouldn't have said that. I just-"

Sam stops her with a light touch on her lips, pulling her upwards so she can see her face. The awareness of how much he loves it makes her feel a little lost.

"Your cake is delicious," she says, quivering.

"You haven't tried it yet."

"It is," Sam insists, shushing her. "It is yours. Anything turns out amazing when the cook is someone who really loves you. You know and love me more than they ever did."

"Are you sure?"

Sam kisses her slowly, taking all the time in the world. Even with all the talk of priorities she has had to endure, from Lonnie to the first years of her life, she knows the moments she would not miss for the world.

"The difference is in the taste."

A slight trace of a memory stretches between them, even in that blissful silence. Sam remembers how it was like afterwards, when it all changed — she remembers the hard stares and the complacent lies, that yes, they were only friends, that yes, it had been a mistake, and no, and no, and yes again. Katie's eyes were always so understanding.

Sam clenches her teeth, holding back the fresh tears. Those lies had wounded them lightly, like drops of water, the stingy, cold kind of the early autumn rains. It hurt so much more when they made love in silence, as much as they could manage.

It is still her birthday. She shuts it all out, and guides her own fingers to Lonnie's face.

"You could call in sick, Sam," she suggests, a bit more lazily. "Just this once."

"You are _not_ risking that, irresponsible daughter."

Sam grumbles those words, putting up her best impression of her worried responsible daddy. After the quiet journey to a past they both would gladly forget, Lonnie finds herself rolling on the mattress with laughter, and she follows.

"But I will be back early today," she promises softly, as soon as they can breathe again. "And you will have all the time you want to wish me a happy birthday."

"Any more gifts you would like to find?"

With Lonnie's lean frame still tight in her arms, Sam stares at the ceiling, until her eyes start wandering freely.

She searches for their traces, all around the place — it used to be their den, and she still doesn't know when exactly it turned into their home. She follows the veining of the cheap door to the bathroom; the varnish has long been defeated by the humid, and that, too, needs redecoration. The chipped porcelain of the shower plate barely shows through the opening. The shine echoes that of the window, made misty by the early cold season, and just below, slightly grazed counter, is the first kettle they bought.

Sam loves each crack, each grain of dust, every faded stain of that place. It is theirs, and that is all it counts; and if a cake made in a hurry, with a cheap carton of milk, eggs and whatever else the person she loves the most in the world could throw together, there is nothing more she could ask for.

She sits, ready to get dressed, and graces Lonnie with a long kiss.

"You are enough."

* * *

><p>With love, a late birthday gift for my dearest silverstreams and her own Lonnie, both cherished people and friends. I am so glad I met you.<p> 


End file.
